


Out Of The Night

by imyourplusone



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M, aka the important stuff, and a lovable criminal type guy, bag of bones free, daddygate free, mostly AU, mostly Liz moving on with her life, post 5x8, pretty much mythology free, that includes her daughter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-02-08 11:57:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12864030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imyourplusone/pseuds/imyourplusone
Summary: Every time he would give into it. Return to his chair by her bed and whisper the words that became a mantra. A prayer.Elizabeth, open your eyes. Find your way back.





	1. Vigil

**Author's Note:**

> Post 5.8 in which Lizzy wakes up literally and figuratively.
> 
> Daddygate free.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

"Out of the night that covers me, black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul."

Only the whisper of an image as his voice flows over her. The caress of his hands, his arms carrying her from the blinding pain. It feels so far away.

"In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed."

But where…?

"Beyond this place of wrath and tears looms the horror of the shade, and yet the menace of the years finds and shall find me unafraid."

He is close, so very close.

_Raymond_.

She calls out but there is no sound to reach him, stop him before he goes. Or is it she that is drifting off? There is no fear. He would not leave her in this vast nothingness.

"It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul."

His words fade and silence meets the darkness once again. Every moment she expects to hear the husky timbre of his voice. Some signal letting her know which way to go.

_Elizabeth, open your eyes, You must find your way back._

She hears him in her thoughts now and it feels as familiar as a memory she can't seem to place. Find her way? When there is nowhere to turn, no left or right. Where up and down have no meaning in this void that keeps her suspended.

_Find your way..._

Back to…..whatever it was that broke her. The place where her mind refuses to go, but Raymond is there. Agnes.

For the first time she tries to reach out to the longing pulling at her and….

_Elizabeth, open your eyes._

Such a simple thing. Has it been there all along? The way back. Has he been there too, waiting for her?

Yes.

The certainty of his presence keeps the fear at bay. Raymond. Agnes. The need to find them overwhelms and she won't let go.

_Open your eyes._

He must have said it a thousand times, so deeply rooted within her does it seem. It is everywhere, now that she understands.

_You must find your way back._

Back to Agnes and Raymond and….

There is nothing else that matters. Summoning every ounce of strength from within, she takes hold and leaves the night behind her.

* * *

He's lost count of the number of sleepless nights he has spent by her side as the sound of the ventilator filled the silence. The steady rhythm of the machine the only sign that she was still tethered to this world. Most of these vigils came in rapid succession, early on when her condition was so….precarious. When every minute they gained was a small victory moving her further from danger until they arrived at this plateau.

Here they have remained as the weeks became months and they approached the turning of a year. The anniversary he has dreaded, fearing no end to this slumber but suddenly it is over, gone as quickly as it came. The simple touch of her hand spinning him around and there she was. Elizabeth. Her blue eyes alive again and searching, already seeking answers that would only devastate. As her grief spilled out he could not help but feel gratitude for her hand in his, no longer limp and lifeless but holding tight. Until the panic overcame her. The question she didn't need to write for him to understand.

Agnes.

"Lizzy, shhhhh. She is fine. I promise she has been well cared for."

But she fought the breathing apparatus, struggling to speak, to scream aloud all the fears for her daughter. Oblivious to the medical personnel now filling the room, he had taken her hands attempting to prevent her pulling the tube from her throat.

"Look at me," as she tried to break free.

"You can't, you'll only hurt yourself," as her tears fell one by one.

"Elizabeth, look at me," as he leaned in close, bringing her hands to his heart. "Trust me. I have Agnes and she is safe. Waiting to see her mother again."

A break in the storm. Her eyes locked onto his and he will never forget the well of desperation there or how hauntingly familiar it was.

Shaking off the long ago memory of a little girl with blond curls, he rises and paces the room. Yes, he is well aware of the flood of emotion she endured over the separation from her child.

He checks his watch. Just before midnight and it is quiet and calm except for his thoughts that won't give him a moment's peace.

To have her return to him only to be pulled away again, this time by those caring for her. There was no other way, he knows this, but the guilt slices through him recalling his nod to the physician and the prick of the needle that followed. The one she never saw coming as she watched him, listened to his reassurances until her eyes closed once more.

_But what if she doesn't come back._

The unspoken concern has already been answered by the doctors. A temporary respite to enable them to remove the ventilator, to assess her condition. It's been hours now and he will not leave her, cannot possibly go until he is sure. So similar to all the other nights something kept him by her side, some instinct that prevented him leaving.

Every time he would give into it. Return to his chair by her bed and whisper the words that became a mantra. A prayer.

_Elizabeth, open your eyes. Find your way back._

He remains silent tonight, but sits again and takes her hand. Waits as he has been waiting these ten months. The room has never been this still without the machine to breathe for her and he glances at the monitor by the bed. All is well and he knows the data is being checked closely by the medical team. If she would only wake up so he can be sure and he squeezes her hand hoping for a response.

Finally, there is the possibility of a full recovery. Finally an end in sight to this long vigil.

But the worry won't subside until….

A squeeze of her hand and her eyes flutter open. The confusion and fear are no longer apparent as she looks around recognizing the room from earlier before she meets his eyes. Sees his small smile and understands he would not be able to speak just then. Not with the moisture he blinks away or the muscle jumping in his jaw as he composes himself. She understands in an instant.

"Raymond."

Her voice is hoarse and almost unrecognizable but beautiful nonetheless. Only the second time he has heard his name from her lips. The first as she was  _dying_ and now when she has come back to life.

"You've no idea how much you have been missed," he murmurs bringing her hand to his cheek.

"I've missed you too."

And there is truth in her words. As if she has reached the end of a long journey. One she cannot recall, yet there is the relief of finally returning...home.

"Where did I go?"

She doesn't miss the flash of pain crossing his features. "I don't know, but you're here now. That's the most important thing."

"Yes."

He watches as she closes her eyes when the questions return one by one. Too many to count or possibly answer tonight. Tom, the men who invaded her apartment and caused her such harm. She will eventually need to hear those details but for now he wants to shield her from such ugliness.

"Elizabeth?" He waits for her to look at him before continuing, "It's just past midnight. Do you know what that means?"

A slight shake of her head and he smiles as he says, "You will see Agnes today."

"Today."

Not a question. She believes him and closes her eyes to sleep. He will not leave her but there is some measure of peace now as he leans back and closes his eyes. Knowing her hand will still be there holding onto his in the morning.

_Out of the night that covers me..._ to this day he has waited for.


	2. Agnes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considering TBL timeline Agnes could be anywhere from negative 6 months to on her way to college so for this fic let's just say she’s two and a half years old. 
> 
>    
> Thanks for reading!

In all the times he has imagined her waking, he never pictured such a tumult. Doctors and therapists, tests and more tests to assess the damage. Determine what has been lost and what remains. What there is to relearn.

She has accepted the poking and prodding quite passively, answered their questions in a detached manner while he stayed in the background attempting not to interfere. Refrain from hovering as everyone seems fit to do on this her first full day…..back. From the very beginning he deferred to their expertise, simply ensured that what she required was provided. That experts the world over would find their way to her side and every time he let them chart the course of her care.

But as the morning passes away, his restlessness grows. It is all taking too long. He halts his steps where he has been pacing the hallway and glances through the open blinds of the window into her room. She is in conversation with yet another specialist and he is just on the point of resuming his solitary march when she meets his eye for the briefest moment.

They could talk to her for a hundred years, run theirs tests one by one but never really know the inner workings of her mind. What drives her, what sustains her. The fears she locks away even from herself. Her strength. Her weakness.

In so many ways he has only begun to understand her, but one thing is certain. It isn't her physical care that is the priority now.

"Doctor, a word if you please."

The steel in his voice leaves no room for argument when he walks into the room. Liz watches as they converse quietly in the hall but there is very little curiosity with regards to what is being said. She rests back, closing her eyes and attempts to clear her mind.

When she hears the click of the door closing, she's already aware of who has re-entered the room. "What's the verdict?"

The bed dips at her side, and she opens her eyes to the well of concern in his own. "They find themselves amazed at your sudden emergence from the coma. Are pleased with the test results so far. I suggested they be pleased and amazed tomorrow and we leave it for today."

A slight nod of her head and it is evident how exhausted she has become.

"Lizzy, I'm sorry," and at the confusion crossing her features, he continues. "I should have brought Agnes first thing."

She makes no response and he watches her profile as she turns away.

"Unless you would rather—"

"Of course I want to see her. What mother wouldn't want to see their child after all this time?"

Sharper than she intended and she wishes he wouldn't sit so close. Wishes she had the strength to walk away from his searching gaze but she is so weak, the possibility of that is out of the question.

"I was going to say if you'd rather wait until tomorrow," he returns at last.

She doesn't look at him, keeps her face averted toward the light streaming in through the window until he rests his hand over hers.

"Talk to me."

Where to begin? It would be like discussing another person in another lifetime so far is she removed from herself let alone her baby.

"Elizabeth."

He won't let her go or collapse within herself. When she'd almost rather close her eyes to go back to the darkness and how can she think of such a thing?

"She won't know me. I don't think I can…."

A whisper. Her deepest fear. To have lost everything of the life she had and to add Agnes to that list would destroy her.

"She will."

"How? I don't see how that is possible. Did you bring her here?"

Sharp again and she despises the edge in her voice. Already hates what either answer will be.

"I did not."

Her eyes close as a tear escapes and he attempts to explain the intolerable. "They've told you of the emergency surgery to alleviate the pressure in your brain. You were in intensive care for two months and then remained on the ventilator. We thought….that is to say, I felt that…"

His pain is palpable now and it breaks through her own. Finally turning to look at him she sees it there, written in every part of his expression. Months of caring for her child and struggling to make those decisions that would have been hers had she been able. She cannot possibly judge what he did in her best interest.

Pulling her hand from under his she immediately rests it right back over, holding tight. "I wouldn't have wanted her to see me like that. It was the right thing to do."

He has no idea what is right anymore but is thankful some sense of calm has returned. "Now how about we give you a little time to rest while I go home and get her."

"Wait," she says quickly, before he can rise. "Tell me about her first. Where is  _home_? For that matter where is  _here_? Who are  _we_?"

The questions tumble out and he settles back until she is ready for him to leave.

"We?"

"You said  _we_  before."

"Oh, well that would be Dembe, Rosa and I."

"Rosa, my nanny?" she asks in genuine surprise.

"Yes. Lovely woman, Rosa. You remember Agnes was with her….that day?" and when she nods he continues. "She wasn't inclined to hand her charge over to a stranger, let me tell you, but I finally convinced her I was friend and not foe. There was no question of her not staying with Agnes which she informed me straight away. Honestly, I couldn't have thought of a better solution myself."

"Has Agnes been with her?"

"No, only for the first few days until Dembe made arrangements for a larger house and there we still are.  _Here_  is a private hospital outside the city and we're about fifteen minutes away. Rosa still has her apartment but she spends a good deal of time with Agnes when need be. You know her son is off to college now, in his junior year, so she enjoys keeping busy."

She is listening to him in nothing short of astonishment. If anyone could charm her nanny into packing up and moving to a safehouse, it is Raymond Reddington. She also knows there is much more he is not saying, but she has no wish to approach those dark days.

Not yet.

It is enough to know her child has been cared for. "Tell me about Agnes."

He hears the pain return to her voice and begins describing the daughter she so desperately misses. The routine they've established for her, how she spends her days. Her likes and dislikes and the familiarity comforts her, realizing the baby she knew is still there in the toddler waiting to meet her.

"Did you have trouble getting her up in the mornings because she is most definitely a night owl."

She laughs as the memories come back to her. "Yes, it was a struggle every day."

"Well, it still is and I'll be happy to have you take over that battle. Now Agnes and I are big readers and she has quite a library. Loves nothing better than a good story. She is also not a finicky eater. I remember Jennifer only ate mashed potatoes for a solid year and I was afraid Agnes would….well anyway, she is quite the opposite. We spend a good deal of time talking while I make dinner."

He has never mentioned his daughter so casually to her before but there is no time to wonder about it as the image of him and Agnes makes her laugh again.

"She has such a quiet nature, I was beginning to hope the terrible twos would pass her by but about a month ago they hit with a bang. I'm not sure what her first word was but her current favorite is  _No!"_ he says fondly.

"Her first word was  _noodle,_ " and they are both smiling, grateful those memories are still there.

He chuckles thinking what a great first word that is for anyone then grows more serious. Hesitates before continuing, not wanting to cause her more pain, however, he thinks the truth is more important than even her sorrow.

"She was so fretful those first days. Inconsolable at times. She missed you very much. Still does."

"I want to see her," she whispers.

"I know you do. Now she's usually up from her nap around two so we'll be back after that, okay?"

"Okay."

"Lizzy, how stupid of me," he says as the thought comes to him. "I should have asked. Would you like to see a picture of her? We have ten months worth waiting for you."

"No, I….I mean I will want to see them of course, but afterwards. I just want her."

"Then we shall see you in a few hours."

She stops him at the door and wishes there were enough words to express what is overwhelming her. "Raymond, thank you. I'll never be able to…"

"You don't have to."

* * *

It goes better than either could have hoped.

Red had his doubts after the drive back to the hospital when he had taken the opportunity to talk things over with Agnes.

"Now you may not realize but this is a big day and if you could see your way to help me out. Show your mother we've done a good job by you."

There is a resounding  _No!_ from the back of the car and he glances at her in the rearview mirror. She is all smiles and lord only knows what she is planning.

"Agnes, I thought we were pals, you and I."

He hears her giggle and hopes for the best.

They had both wanted a perfect reunion, had thought so much depended on it. In the end it was anything but perfect, however, it was natural and that is all they really needed.

Lizzy's  _oh my god_ at seeing her daughter again were the only words she managed for quite some time. She could not have imagined how much Agnes would have changed in the passing months. How tall she had become, how much her hair had grown.

She is sitting up in bed when Red walks in holding her daughter who immediately hides her face in the lapel of his suit. He doesn't miss the tear Lizzy swipes away or her whispered words and understands immediately what he must do. Nothing at all but act as casually as possible.

He makes a point of removing his fedora and a backpack slung over his shoulder, while saying to Lizzy, "Seems we're a little shy at the moment but that usually passes rather quickly."

Their next stop is the window where he points out a few sights, then on around to the bed. He sits in the exact place he occupied a few hours previously only now with a little girl hanging onto him and refusing to turn around.

As he shifts, attempting to get himself and the bundle a bit more comfortable, he can see the worry in Lizzy's features, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. He leans forward to rub a hand up and down her arm before resting it on her daughter's back.

"Everything is fine," he murmurs and Lizzy isn't sure who he is reassuring. Herself or Agnes? Probably both and she takes a deep breath. Lets him carry on the conversation.

"Dembe is anxious to see you as well. He's coming later with dinner. Thought we'd eat here if that is alright? Good," when he sees her nod. "Agnes, do you approve? Look who it is. It's Mommy."

And just like that her shyness passes and she turns to look curiously at her mother. Red scoots them a little closer and reaches to take Lizzy's hand not wanting her to feel outnumbered and her hospital bracelet catches the little girl's attention. Such a simple thing but it is all that is needed for her to draw nearer as Lizzy takes the cue and holds out her wrist.

Soon it is Red backing away as the backpack is brought to the bed for mother and daughter to unpack together. All of the favorite toys and books that he could think of and they spend the next little while deep in conversation about each one.

"I can't believe how much she is talking and exploring and I just can't believe it," she says, meeting his eye where he is leaning against the window ledge.

"I know. She is wonderful, every day more so."

There is no time for regret. No time for the sadness creeping round the edges reminding her of what she has missed. It is still there, must be acknowledged at some point but that is for another time. Certainly not this first day and there is no other thought given to anything but Agnes who soon becomes restless and wants down.

She can't take her eyes from her daughter as she explores the room and Red attempts to keep her out of trouble. At last Dembe arrives and how glad she is to see him. She had not thought it possible to feel this at peace so soon after such an ordeal and must remind herself that it is months in the past even though it feels much nearer to her. But looking at Agnes as Red feeds her from his plate she smiles with the knowledge that her child has endured the upheaval in her life. Has come through it and is happy. She can do nothing but attempt to do the same.

Agnes naturally gravitates to Red and Dembe but Liz doesn't find it as painful as she would have thought. It is enough to listen to their chatter. Watch her interact with the world around her. The rest will come. Her eyes shift to Red who had once told her that and those words have never held such meaning until this moment. Something to hold on to.

* * *

"Lizzy."

She feels his hand squeeze her upper arm and wakes in her darkened hospital room with Agnes asleep at her side.

"What time is it?" she asks, looking around in confusion.

"A little after nine. You two have been out like a light for awhile now."

She smiles remembering Agnes growing more cranky until Red had picked her up and paced the room with her for a bit until she was good and drowsy then promptly plunked her down next to her in bed.

"Raymond, she may be scared," she had whispered. And just then Agnes had woken for a moment and reached a hand out to pat her mother's cheek before dozing off again.

"You're doing great," was his only reply. "I told you she would remember."

She wants to ask what he means, how he was so sure, but it can wait. Settling back with Agnes asleep at her side she had finally had the chance to really study her daughter who is no longer the baby of her memory. Trace the lines of her face, curl her hair between her fingers.

"She should be in bed, but I hate for her to leave."

"Elizabeth, I've had a talk with your doctor and have been thinking. I wanted to get your opinion."

Her first instinct is to respond  _well that's a first_ but catches herself. She is determined to choose her words more carefully than she has done in the past.

"They want you to stay a few days. I know," he says, seeing the shake of her head. "But there are more tests that must be done. Therapy that will begin tomorrow as a matter of fact. That is something that can continue at home. That is to say at my home. I'll need a few days to set up a rehab gym and by then they'll be ready to discharge you. Of course, I will help you go anywhere you should choose but I thought for the time being…"

She wants to leave with him tonight, this very instant but is also aware of her physical limitations. How her coordination seems off, the pervasive fatigue that lingers. As much as it hurts her she knows that she must stay while her daughter goes back to the only home she recognizes. But there is no thought of going anywhere else.

"It sounds perfect, but Raymond don't let them keep me here too long. A day or two only. Promise me."

He would promise her anything within his power. Some things never change. "I promise. A few days then home with Agnes."

"And Dembe. And Rosa," she adds with a smile. "And you."

"It takes a village, Lizzy."

She laughs softly and lets him lift Agnes gently into his arms. "When you're ready there is a tablet in the bedside table. Pictures and videos galore. Between Dembe and Aram there are hours and hours to keep you busy."

"Aram," she murmurs thinking of her friend. Not surprised to hear he has been visiting.

"Do me a favor. Open the album titled  _Goodnight_  first."

"I will."

"Well, it's a miracle this girl is asleep this early so we're off. We'll be back after lunch once they've put you through the gauntlet."

"Gee thanks," but she is smiling as she watches them leave.

She is too wound up to sleep and reaches for the tablet in the drawer in the bedside table. Fumbles a bit as her muscles don't seem to want to cooperate, but she locates the album he named and picks the last video to play. There is a gasp when she sees her face staring back at her.

But as she begins to see the layout of the room she realizes it is her image on a tv screen where another video is playing. Watching for a few seconds she recognizes it as the safehouse nursery where they stayed after Agnes was rescued from Kirk. She’s curious how he came by the video and just then he enters the frame carry the obviously sleepy Agnes who is putting up a good fight to stay awake.

He paces the room with her, murmuring a few words she doesn't catch as the video plays in the background. As if on cue he turns at just the right moment when she waves at the camera.

_Hi, Agnes._

She remembers now. Baz carrying Agnes and filming the outer warehouse. Making her daughter laugh as everyone waved and called to her and she feels tears prick her eyes remembering that day.

_Agnes, there's Mommy. Can you wave back?_

Red this time, capturing her daughter's attention and unbelievably she does as he asks. He moves closer to the screen and she can just make out his next words.

_Time to say goodnight._

Agnes leans forward and pats the screen in the general direction of her face and Liz brings a hand to her cheek. It is so natural she thinks they must have gone through this bedtime ritual for a very long time. A way to bring her there to that new home, somehow keep her present in her daughter's life.

They turn toward the camera and he continues the routine.

_Say goodnight to Dembe._

Her tiny hand waves tiredly as she finally admits defeat and sleep claims her. Red gives a last smile at the camera.

_Goodnight, Elizabeth._

For her this time and at last she understands. A video to be played here, in the hopes of reaching her, drawing her back to those that waited for her.

She presses pause and stares at the image. A little dim from being filmed at night but she can make his features out perfectly. Agnes safe and asleep now in his arms.

_Goodnight,_  she whispers at the pair of them. A day or two and she will be there as well. There is nowhere else she would rather be.


	3. Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU from this point forward. Think we'll let Agnes stick around and not send her off with granny from hell. Will also be ignoring the bag of bones for now and probably forever. Otherwise onward....
> 
> Thanks for reading!

_"Raymond the point of this is to talk to her. Let her hear your voice."_

_"The point is to film Agnes in the hopes she will somehow hear—"_

_"You must also tell her about her daughter."_

Liz smiles in spite of herself. Red and Dembe are conversing in hushed tones as one of them, the latter most probably, holds the camera directed toward a crib. The room seems familiar somehow, similar to the nursery at home. Larger, though, and not exactly the same shade of yellow but close enough she knows it was intentional. Something familiar to comfort her daughter.

Feeling the prick of tears, thinking of the reason that comfort is needed, she gives her head a shake. She wants every last second she lost with her child back again and the impossibility of that gnaws at her. There really are only these photos and videos to bridge the gap from that last morning with Agnes to this new world she woke to find herself in.

A world she doesn't recognize, where everything and everyone is a stranger to her. But really she is the stranger. Life went on around her and she desperately wants to catch up to it, however, that will be much easier to do if she can keep her emotions in check. On this, her first morning of real therapy, when she will begin to understand the extent of the damage, she had chosen to watch the first video. Another beginning and a way for her to see the baby of her memory.

_"Dembe, I don't know if I can do this."_

_"You will do this and besides it was your idea."_

They are still whispering and still off-camera and oh how she would love to see Raymond's expression right about now.

_"I honestly don't know what to say."_

_"You will find the words. No one said this would be easy."_

It's obvious he doesn't realize the recording has begun or he would never have been this candid and she puzzles over it. What is it that Dembe wanted her to gain by hearing it but perhaps it is simply the realness of the moment. That it is unrehearsed and a struggle to figure out what is the right thing to do and say.

At last Raymond moves into frame and there is Agnes asleep in his arms. Just the way she remembers her and wearing the blue dress she had bought her only days before. She never had a chance to let her wear it and it is all she can do not to break down.

_"Lizzy, I…."_

Her eyes move from Agnes to his face and she brings the tablet closer as she studies him. He looks…exhausted. Weighed down by the ordeal that had only just begun at that time.

He tries again as a small smile appears that doesn't quite reach his haunted eyes.

_"Lizzy, I wanted to show you….to tell you about where Agnes will be staying until you feel better. I uh…"_

He pauses again and shifts the baby a little. Nervous movements that she recognizes as he attempts to get used to the camera trained on him.

_"Well, I had Agnes' belongings moved here temporarily and….oh, Rosa is here as well. Just through that door."_

He gives a nod to the right toward a door she cannot see, but it is enough that she can picture it in her mind.

_"There's also quite a nice view from the window. Dembe, show her the view."_

She smiles as Dembe moves the camera for a glimpse out to the garden beyond the house. Quite large by the looks of it and what a wonderful area for Agnes to roam about. The camera pans back to them and there is a different aspect of the nursery. The door leading to Rosa's room. A chair and ottoman in the corner with a stack of books waiting.

_"So today is moving day. Tonight and every night after, Agnes will sleep here. I wanted her to be awake for this but we were running late….I had forgotten how thoroughly a schedule can be thwarted with a baby in the mix, but we're here now and she is safe. Try not to worry, Elizabeth, just come back to her. She will be here waiting."_

The recording ends and she doesn't select another to watch, thinking it may take longer for her to get through them. The loss of time is overwhelming even as grateful as she is to have seen it. She wonders how often it was played for her. Countless times, no doubt, and although there is no recollection, did she somehow know Agnes was safe? One less worry to torment her wherever it was she slipped away to?

Somehow she thinks it must be so.

* * *

He arrives after lunch and finds her sitting in a wheelchair facing away from the door with such a stillness in the room he thinks she must be sleeping. Quietly walking around her to sit in his customary place, he sees that she isn't dozing at all, only staring off toward the window. Immediately he senses the heaviness that has descended.

When he sits, she asks without looking in his direction, "Where is Agnes?"

She doesn't see the concern, the hesitancy. Doesn't see much of anything except the point she has been staring at over his shoulder.

"There's a small pond out front and Dembe took her to look at the ducks. We wanted to make sure you were through with therapy."

It's so subtle that he almost misses it. The slight furrow of her brow before the mask slips back into place.

"Elizabeth, what has happened?"

But she only shakes her head, still looking determinedly away.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure we can—"

"What? Fix it? Make it go away? Arrange it to your liking?" she asks in swift succession, finally meeting his eye.

He refuses to rise to the bait and lightly places a hand on her knee. "Tell me."

But how does she put it into words?  _Moving day_ he had called it in the video but she can't move, not really. The enormity of her injuries, the debilitation that remains she could not fully grasp at first. It was enough that she was awake, that Agnes and Raymond were there. She didn't look beyond it, ignored the way her body didn't seem to cooperate with what she was trying to do, but she knows now. And seeing what is ahead of her, it doesn't seem possible.

_I don't think I can do this._

The words had tumbled out as the therapists attempted to aid her in standing, to judge what work there is ahead. The same expression he had uttered in a whisper, thinking only Dembe could hear and she understands the fear now, the magnitude of what she must do.

"I had no idea," she says at last. "Nothing went as it should today. I can't do any of the things….and this chair. I had no idea."

There is simply too much to explain it properly. One stumbling block after another with the therapists words of encouragement becoming less believable as the session wore on. As the fatigue and pain dragged her under. She could never have envisioned this complete helplessness. Never.

"Lizzy, I fear that anything I say will sound trite and that is not my wish. If I may, I will only add that there is a beginning, middle and an end to things. This is true for most of what comes our way in life."

"I don't know where to begin," she whispers.

"You're here and awake now. The starting point is already behind you."

He is leaning toward her, so earnestly wanting her to believe it, to see what he does it is difficult not to. At last the pressure lifts, just enough.

"Well, I'm not going to be running any races anytime soon."

The first sign of humor and he is thankful for it. "You'll get there when you get there. Rome wasn't built in a day, after all."

"Okay, now that was trite," she says with a small smile.

"I did warn you."

She laughs softly and he thinks he could listen forever. He would give anything to take this burden from her but some things cannot be  _fixed_  as she had said. They are left with the remnants of that horrible night and there is no escaping it.

"I told Dembe I would call when you're ready."

Ready for her second visit with Agnes. Another starting point that is behind her, she supposes. Getting out of this chair and back to her daughter, her life is the only thing that matters. She pushes everything else from her thoughts. Tom, the men in her apartment, whatever he was mixed up in. It takes all of her resolve to remove those images from her mind and keep her eyes forward.

There isn't even an end in sight, so far is she from it, but one thing is for certain. She has no desire to go back. Whatever lies behind almost destroyed her. It stole ten months of her life and for now she will not go near it.

He squeezes her knee to bring her back from her scattered thoughts and she gives him a nod. "I'm ready."


	4. Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there’s nothing like a deleted scene of Liz collapsed in a heap at Tom’s grave, telling him she’ll never have a home without him to rekindle interest in a fic. So after many months I’m going to finish this up for myself if for no other reason. The notion that Liz can’t live on her own or function as a mother to her child without the guy who did her wrong is beyond tiresome and frankly gross. I’ll be borrowing some 5b themes and events and hopefully we don’t wind up back at the grave with Nightmare Tom. I somehow doubt that happens. So here goes….Liz 2.0 and Lizzington of course.

Raymond is counting days again.  
  
Just as he did when she could not wake. Ten months worth and everyday he added another to the tally in his mind while dreading the approach of a full year of darkness. Without really being cognizant of it, the number reset to zero when she finally opened her eyes.  
  
Thirty-six days.  
  
Hardly anything at all compared to those that came before. The first six spent in the hospital and it’s a wonder they managed to keep her there that long. Her final ultimatum that she would not spend another week and if she had to crawl from the building…..well, it took some doing but he managed to gather the equipment they would need in order to continue her treatment at home.  
  
Another week and she was on her feet again and walking between the parallel bar apparatus. Slowly. Painfully. What a fitting description for the way each small milestone has been attained.  
  
“Lizzy, don’t you think you should—“  
  
“No. Five more minutes,” she replies between breaths, without glancing his way.  
  
With a sigh, he says no more, already knowing her limp will be exacerbated when she finally ceases the cycling exercise. She’ll be in pain this evening, even more than usual, and will need to ice her hip.  
  
It isn’t the first time this has occurred and it doesn’t happen every day, but he recognizes it now. When the haunted expression returns and she goes beyond the limits of what she can endure so the physical anguish might outweigh that of her mind.  
  
It is difficult to sit idly by and watch the grimace with each movement, the sweat beading her forehead and the torment behind her eyes. He would not have thought it possible to feel as helpless as those months spent at her bedside, but he could not have known what was to come. This sorrow that drives her farther away. The darkness that seems hellbent on dragging her back under.  
  
He feels his own anger flash at what is beyond his control and the burden he can’t possibly remove from her. With another sigh, he rises from the chair where he has waited, watching as she has gone through her afternoon regimen. The one her therapists have set from their morning session but which she pushes past with every turn of the cycle. He cannot watch any longer.  
  
She jumps slightly, feeling his hand on her shoulder, having not been aware of his approach.  
  
“I said five more minutes.”  
  
“No. That is enough,” he replies with steel in his voice to match the edge in her own.  
  
They watch each other in the mirror that stretches from floor to ceiling on the opposite wall as the battle of wills plays out. At last her movements slow and they are left with the quiet that fills the gym which is broken almost immediately by her groan of pain when she moves to stand.  
  
He reaches quickly for her as her knees start to buckle before muttering, “I’ll refrain from saying I told you so.”  
  
“That’s a very good idea,” she grumbles back, but her irritation gives way to guilt as soon as the words leave her mouth.  
  
He waits as she regains her footing, leaving his hands firmly locked around her waist. “Lizzy, let me get your—“  
  
“I swear to god if you say wheelchair…”  
  
This earns her a soft chuckle and some of the tension is alleviated, which is a very good thing as her body seems to be shutting down now that the adrenaline is no longer pushing her.  
  
“I was going to suggest your cane and perhaps my arm or we can just stand here and squabble.”  
  
She makes no response, simply gives him that look while attempting to catch her breath, prompting him to stoop and retrieve the cane. It had seemed such a accomplishment getting out of the chair, when she could begin to make her way slowly around the sprawling mansion, but she is already envisioning the day when she can be done with it. And in truth she has a rather limited territory that she can traverse. Agnes’ room is next to her own and there is a service elevated at the end of their wing that enables her to get to the kitchen. She’s still unsure if its presence is a happy accident or if Dembe planned it that way when he chose the house.  
  
She links an arm through his and they instinctively make their way toward it, eventually passing Dembe who is in the early stages of preparing dinner.  
  
“An ice pack if you please,” Raymond calls out as they shuffle through.  
  
The thought to ask for one hadn’t crossed her mind as she concentrates on remaining upright, but of course he would know what she needs. He always has a way of anticipating what should be done which she doesn’t always mind. At other times, when the suffocating feeling returns and she wants to scream to push it away, she finds the irritation with his all-seeing eye hard to control.  
  
There is too much exhaustion weighing her down and with each step sending a bolt of pain through her hip, she stays silent. In truth, she despises these flashes of temper. They seem just another manifestation of all the things she can’t control. She woke to find herself swept along by a current she has no hope of fighting as it carries her further from herself.  
  
They reach the elevator in silence with Dembe catching up to them just as the door opens. He offers her a sympathetic smile as he hands Raymond the ice pack and retreats back down the hall.  
  
“Raymond, I’m—“  
  
She stumbles then, after taking a step inside, and her gasp of pain seems to echo all around the small confines of the space.  
  
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs close to her ear as his hand moves to encircle her waist.  
  
“Feel free to say I told you so,” she mutters through gritted teeth.  
  
“Maybe later. Now what was it you were saying?”  
  
He’s positively chipper or at least putting on a good show of normalcy and she wishes she could find the words again. That she is sorry for her dark mood...so many things she would say, but to give voice to them might somehow make the roots sink deeper. She responds with a slight shake of her head, keeping her eyes straight ahead as they ascend and finds herself leaning closer to his side.  
  
“Wait,” she whispers before they step off the elevator, allowing her to wrap an arm around him too, giving up any pretense that her body is going to cooperate today.  
  
Her limp is becoming more pronounced, to the point that when they enter her bedroom there is a groan with every step. For once no argument comes when he assists her to sit on the side of her bed and hands her a pain pill and water. She shuts her eyes to the world waiting for the medication to take effect only opening them when she feels her shoes being slipped off.  
  
“I’d suggest lying down for awhile but if you want to change…”  
  
“I’ll rest before dinner so I can visit with Agnes,” she says, watching him quietly where he kneels in front of her.  
  
“Alright, Lizzy.”  
  
There is sorrow laced into the reply that she doesn’t recognize through the haze of discomfort.  
  
_Visit with Agnes._  
  
As if she’s a guest here. Something that hasn’t escaped his notice. The subtle reserve that has come into being even as the familiarity grew once more between mother and child. He doubts she is even aware of how her phrasing highlights her alienation, but now is not the time to draw attention to it.  
  
She sees only his smile as he stands to assist her in lying back, feels only the gentleness of his touch as he lifts her legs onto the bed. There is only relief as the pain lessens its grip allowing her to relax. He places the ice pack on her hip after she settles onto her side, then adds a blanket on top. She won’t be at dinner tonight no matter how much she wishes to see Agnes. Her poor body will not allow it. After the briefest hesitation, he sits on the side of the bed and places his folded hands in his lap. Waiting.  
  
“Go ahead and say it,” she whispers, returning his gaze.  
  
“What would you imagine I’m going to say, Elizabeth?”  
  
“That I’m doing too much, not following my therapist’s guidelines.”  
  
“It seems we are in agreement then.”  
  
They watch each other just as before through the mirror in the gym until she finally backed down. It will be his turn now. Something he already sees in her determined expression and so he continues after a few moments.  
  
“You can’t outrun what haunts you. Believe me when I tell you, it is not possible.”  
  
“That is not what I’m doing.”  
  
“Oh, but it is. I could tell you that you are not alone in this but I think you’re already aware of that. What I also understand is that part of the journey you must make on your own. No one can lay out its course for you and you’ll never be able to outpace it.”  
  
“I’m doing my best to get better.”  
  
“Yes, you are,” he affirms and for the first time reaches to place a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry for your suffering, Lizzy.”  
  
My god, how quickly the past rushes back to her these days. The very words he spoke to her after she stopped the adoption. She thought nothing could rival that aching loss but she’d had no idea what was coming for her.  
  
He must see it in her expression which prompts his hand to move up and down her arm as if trying to chase the chill away that has settled into her very being.  
  
“Be a little kinder to yourself, perhaps.”  
  
She nods at his quiet plea, finding it impossible to ignore his concern.  
  
The words remain elusive. The ones she would summon to tell him what torments her. Though she can’t explain it, she doesn’t have the strength to be alone with it, not today. When he moves to rise from the bed, she reaches out to still his motion. Quite without thought, her hand finds his as she closes her eyes to sleep.  
  
He stays long after he should leave, for as long as her hand holds to his. How could he pull away? Her reserves will be firmly in place when she wakes, the rage that is pulling her further into the darkness will return. It seems neither can stop what is coming.  
  
Thirty-six days.  
  
Hardly anything at all and he places a kiss to the back of her hand that she will never recall, already hurting for what lies ahead of her.


	5. Freefall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

Why doesn’t he show himself?

She expects the confrontation around every corner, beyond the plastic sheeting hanging row after row from floor to ceiling distorting her view, throwing the darkened space into a tangled blur of images she can’t decipher. Her grip automatically tightens on her weapon. Without looking, she is certain the safety is off with a round already chambered. Ready. It should be enough but somehow she knows it won’t be.

And still she continues on. One hand holding the gun while the other reaches out to pull the plastic to the side. Nothing ahead of her but what she has already passed through yet her trepidation increases with each step.

 _Liz_.

The whisper spins her around, both hands steadying her grip preparing to fire. There is no one behind her, no reason for the terror to close in, squeezing the air from her lungs. She spins again. And again. The disorientation comes quickly with the realization she is lost and her steps carry her forward, rapidly now with the plastic hitting her like a slap in the face.

She smells the smoke just as the light catches her eye. The dancing illumination of a flame cutting into the haze, pulling her forward until she makes out the shape of the barrel. The fire burns within, building in intensity at her approach. Its heat seers into her to the point of pain, but she continues, bringing her arm up for protection. The urgency to see what is there within the inferno draws her closer until she just catches the merest whisper of an image. Her face, smiling toward the camera before she disappears, taking with it all the evidence that she once was happy.

The tears come one after the other, scalding in their intensity.

 _Liz_.

She turns, searching the space behind her. At last he has shown himself. He betrays no emotion when her eyes finally find him at the edge of the room. No response when she raises her hand to fire, no words when she realizes her weapon has disappeared. She attempts to say his name, offer some caution to halt his progress when he takes a step forward, but there is only the crackle of the fire growing behind her. Her husband continues his silent approach, each footfall carefully placed in order to spring left or right should she try to run.

Another few steps and he will be close enough to touch her and without a second thought, she spins for the last time and chooses the flame.

* * *

The pain catches up with her later. After she has rolled from the bed and dropped to her knees beside it, fighting for breath through the suffocating remnants of the dream.

_It’s not real. It’s not real._

She doesn’t believe her own thoughts. Not when her skin burns from the scorching heat and her hand reaches above her to the bedside table, blindly searching for her service weapon that is no longer in her possession. Not when this instinct from the deepest part of her is certain she could die.

_It’s not real. It’s not real._

Her husband is not coming to kill her, but it doesn’t stop her from crawling into the corner on the other side of the table. She presses her back into the wall, wanting to disappear and hating the part of herself that searches the darkened bedroom for any sign of movement. There is no logic here with the images of the dream still clear in her mind. They will fade as they always do, leaving only the fear behind, but she is too close to it now with no way to loosen its grip.

The familiarity of it is what sickens her and what she doesn’t understand. Why it isn’t the terrorizing events of the night he died that come to torment her. The night that she has so few memories of, much like the dreams that began soon after she woke from the coma. No, this is the fear from before. The one that was born when she pulled the box from the floor and found the world that Tom had hidden from her.

The panic fades ever so slowly, lessening as her heart ceases its pounding within her chest. Her eyes eventually stop their search of the shadows and look instead toward the window waiting for the first blush of sunrise.

She has been here before. Found herself folded into this corner after whatever variation of the dream had come and gone. Not of the men who invaded her home but from the months her life unraveled to reveal Tom for what he was.

What she had forgotten. What she had forgiven. What now haunts her.

The deepest recesses of her being have been torn open and what she hid away frightens her more than any present reality. It is the reason she now lets a small shaft of light to enter from the bathroom each night. She can no longer be alone with the darkness.

There is, however, all her knowledge and training in psychology to explain what is happening to her. The appropriate clinical terms to apply to this post-traumatic state and she goes over them in her mind like a list she keeps to convince herself she is still sane. Her rational self even believes it, but she cannot fathom why the day she found Tom’s warehouse should return to her after all this time. Why all the other horrors of those months should terrorize her each night. Meera and Ames. The rusted hull of the boat. The sickening violation of it all. Everything twisted in some form or another waiting until exhaustion claims her to strike at her damaged mind.

But it is the thought that it is not what she  _cannot_ understand but what she doesn’t want to face that pushes her from the wall to begin the slow and painful process of pulling herself up from the floor.

* * *

“We missed you at breakfast, Lizzy.”

Raymond purposely refrains from touching her, not wanting to startle her, but his restraint does no good. She flinches just the same and looks over to where he has come to stand next to her in the sunroom.

“What was that?”

“We missed you at breakfast,” he repeats softly with a small smile.

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

She offers no further explanation and turns back to the window. He follows her line of sight and sees Rosa and Agnes in the expansive garden to the back of the mansion. The little girl is walking quite proficiently now but still occasionally taking a tumble, with Rosa there to set her right. As he is well aware, it is sometimes a challenge keeping up with her and the thought has him stealing a glance in Lizzy’s direction. Inscrutable as she so often is these days.

“Why don’t we walk out to meet them?”

“No, I’ll see her later. After therapy.”

“”Lizzy, we can—”

“No,” she says again, sharper this time as she continues staring straight ahead. “I feel too unsteady on those flagstones with this damn cane. Besides, the therapists are waiting.”

What he would like to say is  _let them wait_ but holds back the words, knowing these sessions are helping to bring her back to herself. At least physically.

“An early dinner then. We’re having spaghetti which is messy but Agnes does love it.”

“Yes, she does.” Wistful now as she watches her daughter a few extra seconds before turning away, only to stop when she sees Raymond’s expression. “What is it?”

She can’t help asking the question and for once she finds it difficult to avert her gaze or continue her exit from the room.

He can’t help reaching a hand out to rest on her cheek and finds it difficult to put into words the unease that has taken hold. His thumb traces the shadow under her eye and he feels certain the anguish he sees there must be following her into the night.

“You look tired.”

“I am.”

There is the slightest increase of pressure as her head rests into his hand, and again he holds back from pulling her close. Only rarely since she has left the hospital has she allowed her defenses to come down, but there is something in the stillness that surrounds her, the carefulness with which she guards herself that makes him hesitate again and again. For the first time he fears something in her could shatter. It is that fear that prompts him to continue.

“I’m sure it feels like you’re staring into an abyss, but until you face what has occurred, you won’t be able to cross it.”

She immediately recoils, pulling away from his touch and taking a step back. Needing some distance between herself and his words that so closely mirror what her thoughts were in the early hours of the morning.

“What makes you think I haven’t faced it? I live with it everyday.”

“You have yet to visit your home or the cemetery,” he replies calmly to the anger growing in her tone. “Your refusal to talk about that night.”

“You told me you dealt with those men. There is nothing else to say.”

“There is more to it than that as you well know.”

She takes another step back. “Yes, there always is.”

He watches her retreat, feeling he has pushed her enough today even though his unease has only grown. By dinner she betrays no sign that anything is amiss and he doesn’t want to disturb her time with Agnes, but he will think back to that moment in the sunroom in the days to come and wish more than anything he had followed her.

* * *

When she steps into the hallway, she immediately looks to the right, all the way to the furthest end. There is the faintest light coming from under his door and she takes a step toward it but can go no further. It would be too…..humiliating to talk with him about it. Again.

_Do you have any idea how filthy that makes me feel?_

_Unfortunately, you’re chest deep in filth and you’re going to have to wade through it to get to the other side._

She makes it down the elevator and to the bathroom before she is sick, just as she was the morning after the events that prompted that long ago conversation. What came back to her in nightmare form and the nausea is rolling over her in waves.

When she reaches the kitchen sink, she is once more afraid she will be sick and stands there gripping the edge of the counter. The cane falling to the floor seems impossibly loud in the stillness of the mansion, but there is only silence now. Silence and the images from the dream bearing down on her.

_It’s not real. It’s not real._

Except it is real. She remembers every second of it. The hand on her shoulder and the certainty he would kill her if she finally betrayed the fact that she knew him for what he was. How she had wanted to scream, to fight, anything but the humiliation that followed. The anger burns within her, as bitter as the sickness that came before and she holds on tighter.

The touch on her back is so soft, just a whisper, and without thought or hesitation she spins around to push him back. Her husband who has dragged her into the abyss with no hope of ever clawing her way back out again.

“Lizzy.”

Who will kill her if he realizes he has been compromised, but she can’t. Not again.

“Elizabeth, it’s Raymond.”

She blinks into the brightness of the kitchen and Raymond standing before her. Not Tom and she shakes her head in confusion as she realizes her wrist is being held firmly in his hand. Just short of causing her pain until she relaxes and the knife falls next to her cane. The one she has no recollection of picking up or what came after. There is only Raymond’s penetrating gaze as he gauges what her reaction might be and the blood she now sees that is seeping into his undershirt.

There are only his arms that catch her as she falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this fic is about Liz's recovery and not the revenge quest, lets just say Red tracked the men down who harmed her and they have been dealt with. Seems highly unlikely he would have let ten months go by without taking care of business.


	6. Shattered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

Liz can feel the fractures that form to join those that were already in place causing this breaking apart. Everything is in pieces. Her thoughts as he helps her to a chair at the breakfast table. Their words as her sorrow spills over.

_Raymond, I don’t know how…_

_You’re alright._

But it isn’t herself that she is thinking of just then, not with the blood still seeping from the wound at his side.

_I’m so sorry. I would never—_

_No. I startled you._

Because everything startles her now. Every noise or touch seems to cause more damage.

And for the first time the thought forms. What would have been unthinkable only minutes before, but now with a bloody knife lying on the floor, refuses to leave her mind. Weeks of searching for what to do and here it is at last.

“I need my cane,” she says, with a new resolve entering her voice.

He makes no comment as he rises from the chair next to her and goes to retrieve it near the knife where it fell. When he places it in her hands, she stands carefully and walks back to the sink. The place the nightmare brought her to and where she lashed out without realizing what or whom was near. With a shake of her head, she removes a first aid kit from the cabinet and immediately hears his voice from behind her.

“There is no need for that now.”

“Raymond, for once stop arguing and come here.”

His sigh follows as he steps to her side, his mouth drawn into a grim line. An expression she attributes to his concern for her more than any pain brought by his injury, but it is the latter that causes the lump to rise in her throat.

“Let me see,” she murmurs, dropping her eyes to the bloody tear through his undershirt.

“Lizzy…”

She lays the cane across the counter with a loud crack and pulls the first aid kit closer with more force than necessary which halts any further argument and when she turns back, he raises the shirt on his left side. There is the momentary relief to discover it isn’t a stab wound, only a deep gash from her hand blindly swinging round.

“It probably needs stitches,” but seeing him open his mouth to object, she continues resolutely. “There are a few butterfly bandages in here. We’ll use those to close the cut.”

It is quiet in the kitchen except for his sharp intake of breath once or twice as she works to clean the area. Once that is accomplished her touch is a mere whisper on his skin as the bandages are applied until she finishes and places her palm over top.

For the first time she meets his eyes. “I never meant to hurt you.”

Even though that is all she feels capable of at the moment. All that she has ever been capable of where he is concerned.

Her hand is impossibly warm against his skin and he reaches up to place his there for a moment. “I know that.”

It goes as quickly as it came when her hand slips from beneath and she turns away.

“Tell me how to help you,” he continues quietly.

“I don’t know how.”

If not for the quiet of the night, her response would have been lost to him. He studies her profile, feeling how far she has pulled away in the few seconds that have passed. How the space between them goes on and on.

“Elizabeth.”

When she takes a step toward the door.

“Later.”

When her composure start to fail.

It feels like a lie. Something she wanted no part of since she has woken but there is no other way. The thought returns, now that she is certain Raymond has not been seriously injured. What was unthinkable is the only thing she knows to do.

* * *

She is gone.

He should have known when she didn’t come down for breakfast and he mutters a curse under his breath for not acting quicker. For always hesitating where she is concerned, fearing to push too far. He should never have let it go last night or the countless other times he watched her retreat, hoping that next time he would be able to reach her.

“I can check the security feed.”

Dembe is close on his heels after Raymond decided to pick the lock on her bedroom door when she again failed to appear for her therapy session. The hope that she needed time to herself after the night’s events gave way to fear and now here they are in her empty bedroom when there was only silence that met his repeated knocks.

“There is no need,” Raymond replies quietly.

Though she is injured there is still the agent within and bypassing the mansion’s security would come easily to her. She is also not a prisoner and there are any number of ways to slip off the property. What concerns him now is her destination and current frame of mind.

“I can think of only two places she is likely to go.”

And he refuses to acknowledge the possibility of not finding her.

* * *

It’s been almost a year since she walked through the door of her….home. Perhaps that is why it feels like a foreign land as she steps into the sitting room. Maybe it is the dimness of the rooms or the complete stillness of the place that reminds her nothing lives here anymore. How could it with the heaviness that weighs down the air making each breath an effort.

Everything is as she left it that final morning. All has been put to right as she knew it would. No blood-soaked rug to remind her of the violence that occurred here. Raymond would have seen to it even though he cannot shield her from the fragmented memories that rush forward. The chaos of the scene, steps from where her child would normally have been sleeping….and if she had been home.

It was the image of the attack that drew her here, but Liz turns her back to it now and walks to her daughter’s room. Agnes’ belongings have been moved but it is the distance that matters. Less than twenty feet from where she almost died to the threshold, something that before now had not crossed her mind. How close the danger was to reaching her and the anger burns bitter in her stomach.

After Kirk, after every hard thing that followed, hadn’t she sworn that she would never again be so foolish as to allow someone to endanger her child? It is difficult not to think of the villa in Cuba, a place she rarely allows her thoughts to visit. Another instance when she blindly followed only to have her home invaded, herself and her child put at risk.

All she did was trust and it brought her nothing but anguish. All that remains is regret and the fury building within.

Standing here in the remnants of her home, she understands why she finally needed to return to this place she has avoided since waking. She retraces her steps to the sitting room and takes hold of the first object she finds, without any real knowledge of what it is, and hurls it against the wall. And another. And another. On and on until the pain in her shoulder slices through her but she cannot seem to stop. She is locked in motion, breaking apart what it was that broke her.

* * *

He doesn’t see her at first. There is only the despair filled rage that greets him in the destruction of her apartment. No sound but the crunch of broken pottery and glass under his feet which grows louder as his steps quicken. It is when he finally enters Agnes’ empty room that he finds her curled into the corner.

Now there is only silence as the seconds drag out until he hears it. The soft in and out of her breathing as she sleeps. His own breath rushes out in relief and he remains just inside the doorway until it slows to match her own.

“Elizabeth.”

She doesn’t stir and he goes to her side to kneel, places a hand on her arm and tries again.

“Elizabeth.”

For the first time in weeks she doesn’t startle at being touched. There is only confusion as she sits up and glances around then back to him as if trying to recall how they arrived here in her daughter’s room. It catches up with her quickly.

“I’m not doing very well,” she murmurs and reaches a hand out toward him to steady herself from the strange sensation that the room is tilting.

“I have you.”

And the last tenuous stronghold within her crumbles at the familiar words. The tears come one after another as he draws her forward, holding her together when it is no longer in her power to do so. Just as he did the night he gave her the music box and she feels the dizzying sensation again. The circle has closed, leading her back to the first betrayal.

_Everything is going to be okay, You’re going to be okay._

She wasn’t though and never has it been clearer until this moment why it could not be so. The words are only a memory now. They do not come again, but there is the kiss through her hair and the certainty he will not let her fall as her grief overtakes her.

There is no sense of time passing in this place where her life stopped. No way to know how long he held onto her as her anguish poured out, only the lengthening shadows across the room indicate the fading of the day. It seems they are beyond words and it isn’t until much later that he helps her stand and walks with her to a chair in the sitting room.

She listens to his steps navigating the destruction as he brings her tissue and then a damp cloth for her face. Only shakes her head when he takes hold of her hand, seeing a cut on her palm and asking if she recalled how it happened.

It stings now that she is aware of it. There is no recollection of injuring herself, but looking at the state of the apartment, it isn’t surprising. He leaves her again and is soon back with a handful of supplies to deal with the wound.

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s your turn not to argue.”

The briefest smile forms even though another tear tracks down her cheek. Astonishing that there could be any left but she sees it then. Another circle closing as this time he cleans away the blood and applies the bandages. She watches as his hand holds on to hers after he is done and the way his thumb moves across the scar on her wrist just above.

“So many of our scars are the same,” she whispers and can feel him studying her, thinking how to respond.

“Yes, they are,” he replies at last.

They leave the rest unsaid as they so often do, but glancing around she can’t seem to hold back what is so damn difficult to acknowledge.

“Do you know what it took from me to allow this to happen again?”

Another home and marriage. Another betrayal.

A small squeeze of her hand is his answer. “I can have it cleaned and packed up if—”

“No, leave it. I should be the one to do it when I’m able.”

“Alright.”

“You know why it happened, don’t you? What he was mixed up in?”

There is no accusation in her tone, no real emotion. Raymond has attempted to talk with her about it after all, but beyond his reassurance that the men are no longer a danger to her or Agnes, she refused to talk about it.

“When you’re ready to hear it, I’ll tell you what I’ve learned.”

She wishes it could be today, right now so that she could leave it here in the shambles of this place, but that is not possible.

“Lizzy, let me take you home.”

Her head is already shaking as she sits back in the chair. “I should stay—”

Because the image of the knife falling from her hand haunts her as well as the fear of hurting him again. Or Agnes.

“I won’t leave you here.”

“Raymond…”

He leans toward her to grasp her other hand. “No.”

She is too exhausted to argue and cannot ignore the pain in his face. With a nod she allows him to pull her up and links her arm through his, having lost her cane somewhere in the chaos of the apartment.

His relief is evident and it causes a tightening in her chest, knowing she has already made the decision to leave.


	7. Promise

Raymond thought there would be no more nights of vigil, watching as she sleeps, wanting to be close should she need him. He believed it had ended when she woke, but there was no way of knowing what her return would cost her. How much damage there was to repair.

He shifts position in the chair next to her bed and feels the ache from the cut on his side. She had reacted so quickly, he hadn’t been able to stop the flash of the knife. In truth, he hasn’t been able to prevent much of anything. All of the promises he has made to keep her safe and her brokenness is a stark reminder of that failure.

Agnes turns in her sleep and Elizabeth instinctively does the same, keeping her daughter close. After the trauma of the last few days, with her worry that she is somehow a danger to them, he had managed to convince her to return home with him. Well, he hadn’t really given her much choice in the matter, but to leave her in that apartment was unthinkable. She was too exhausted to argue, too traumatized by the previous night after finding the knife in her hand and the blood at his side.

And so he had brought her home, the only thing he could think to do. Had managed to get her to eat dinner before helping her lie down, but it wasn’t enough to erase the shattered expression from her eyes. He had left for a few minutes and returned with Agnes and tucked her in next to her mother. Watched as the tears returned momentarily until her hand reached for his, a silent thank you before closing her eyes.

He had stayed, eventually moving to the armchair, telling himself she may need help should Agnes wake in the night. Really, he wanted to be near her. Couldn’t shake the feeling that has unsettled him. The one from the night he and Dembe rushed into the apartment, finding her gravely injured on the floor, with her blood spreading out everywhere. The rush downstairs, holding onto her, and fearing each second she would be torn away. How familiar it felt today, returning there without knowing what he might find. There is no thought of leaving her even when he eventually dozes off, just as there was no thought of it during those first days when she was so near to death.

The fear simply will not let him go.

The next time he opens his eyes, the room is lit by the faint light of morning. All is quiet in the house and without glancing at his watch, he can tell it is very early. When he looks toward the bed he finds her watching him and something inside begins to hurt. There is no way to prevent what is coming and his breath stops waiting for her to say it.

“I’m leaving.”

It wasn’t real until this moment even though some part of him has felt its approach for days. And days before that.

“You don’t have to do this alone.”

“Come here,” she murmurs, placing a hand on the bed in front of her.

He does as she asks, returns to sit where he remained after she had fallen asleep, thankful each moment that he had found her. Somehow already knowing it would not last. When he has settled down without disturbing Agnes asleep between them, she finally tells him the rest.

“This is the part I  _must_  do alone, Raymond. I dream about it almost every night. Terrible things from when I first learned he wasn’t….”

She pauses and he watches as she swallows. All this time he thought he knew what torments her but he sees now how far back she must go to find the source of it.

“I’m afraid each night that I will wake up screaming and Agnes will hear. I think the only reason it hasn’t happened is knowing you and she are near, but I need….”

She hesitates again and after a few seconds he prompts her to continue. “What do you need? Tell me.”

“I need to scream.”

Barely a whisper. Even now he can tell she fears Agnes coming too close to this despair. Hasn’t he done the same though? Like a wounded animal, retreated alone to howl at the moon until the rage subsided enough. Just enough.

“Where will you go?”

“I’m not sure. Not too far so that you can send the jet if anything should happen.” She glances down toward Agnes and back again before going on. “I need to ask you to continue caring for her until I’m able.”

“You never have to ask that.”

His quiet words bring the first hint of a smile and she moves a hand from her daughter’s back to find his on the other side.

“Promise me, you won’t follow me.”

“If you will promise to let me know if you need help. Of any kind.”

“Yes.”

He nods in agreement and they stay that way as the room brightens with the day. But he has one last request to make.

“Elizabeth, don’t just go off and hide in the dark. Wherever you go, look for some light.”

It feels like there is none left in the world apart from what is right here where her hand holds to his as Agnes rests beneath. She can’t imagine anything but darkness waiting for her but there is nowhere else to go but through it. To find some way across the abyss as he once described.

“I’ll try.”

The only promise she can make until she finds her way back to them.

* * *

It takes a few days for her to make the arrangements. Raymond would have taken care of it for her had she asked, but it felt wrong somehow, like rubbing salt in the wound. She knows there was a cabin in the woods to which he retreated after she  _died._ Where Aram found him and urged him to return to the living. She learned about it later, of course. Much later when she finally found the courage to broach the subject.

The remorse stings to this day. However, it all seems linked somehow. All of these deceptions in her wake leading back to the brownstone that continue to hold her captive so many years later.

With a blink, she returns to the task at hand. Aram will be here soon and she wants to be ready, needs to go quickly before she talks herself out of it. As she has done a thousand times since telling him she was going. The failure of leaving Agnes behind….but isn’t she doing this for her daughter? So that she may one day be fit enough to actually care for her again? That Agnes won’t grow up with only the memory of a ghost of a mother filling up her childhood?

Liz swallows the lump in her throat and resolutely closes the suitcase. This is all she knows to do. The possibility of another knife making its way into her hand leaves her with no other alternative.

It was recalling the conversation with Aram that reminded her of one before that. Sometime after Tom left the boat and she was reeling from the murder of Ames, Aram had come to her, offered her the use of the cabin owned by his family. A few hours north and miles from anywhere, but she turned him down. It was easier to hold onto her rage as she moved from motel to motel, locked into a state of limbo. She wonders everyday had she gone then, tore the grief and anger from herself, would it have made a difference. A question without any real answer considering she now has Agnes. The one perfect thing in all this ugliness.

With a last look around the room, she is just about to leave when she spots the notebook Red gave her that first day in the hospital. The one containing all of the time she missed. She was only able to watch a few videos before those missing memories became too much to bear, but she suddenly thinks she will need it with her and zips it into the suitcase.

There is a knock at her door as she finishes and a moment later Dembe enters.

“Aram in downstairs, Elizabeth.”

“Alright.”

Dembe glances toward the closed door on the other side of the room that leads into the nursery. “He will not come down. I’ll wait for you in the hall with your case.”

So they will say their goodbyes in the room where her daughter is sleeping. It is better this way. She had timed it so that Aram would arrive during Agnes’ nap time. A chance for her to slip away without too much disruption. She feels like a coward and again wonders if she is doing the right thing. Perhaps they’ve reached the place where there are no more simple choices to be made, only those with the power to draw blood.

He’s at the window when she enters and glances briefly her way before turning back to stare at the back garden, grateful he won’t see her leave.

She moves to the crib and he listens to her murmured words of reassurance to her sleeping daughter that she will return. Her sorrow for all the things she cannot control. It seems all they have left is regret and this child who can’t yet sense its pull. He hopes more than anything she never will.

“Elizabeth, do you want me to lift her for you?”

He has finally turned to face what he has wanted to avoid and Liz can feel him studying her. With a shake of her head, she watches Agnes for a minute more. “No, let her sleep. It is time to go.”

When she meets his gaze, all the things she had thought to say melt away. They really aren’t necessary. She knows he will care for her child just as he has done for months and he knows she will return when she is stronger.

Strangely it is the isolation that weighs on her now. The place Aram found him in his grief for her. Where she is now going and something inside begins to hurt.

“I hope one day that you can forgive me.”

“Lizzy, there is nothing to forgive,” he says with a small shake of his head. “I understand the decision you’ve made.”

Because he doesn’t know her thoughts, can’t distinguish this pain pressing in on her from all the rest. She hasn’t the strength to explain it.

“I’m not talking about that.”

She turns then, away from his confusion and her doubts, but the need stops her, pulls her around again. She walks the few steps to him, carefully now that she is no longer using the cane for support. Without another word, she draws him close. Closer. Tighter. His hand moves across her back and she concentrates on its warmth. To and fro until she forces herself to pull back. It would be so easy to stay, but she is through with easy and the heavy price it demands.

No more words. She exits through the door leading to the hall where Dembe is waiting and he does not follow. Just as he promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the time Ruin aired I was adamantly opposed to the notion that Liz would leave, but really it wasn’t about that at all. It was the lack of contact, the thought that she couldn’t be located if Agnes needed her. Not the writer’s best moment imo. So I included the need for time on her own while still letting Liz be a parent.


	8. Light

It takes her a week to find it. Seven days to fully recall his words when she told him she was leaving.

_Elizabeth, don’t just go off and hide in the dark._

But that is exactly what it feels like. Hiding. Running. It is what he knows best and what he would never want for her.

How easy it was to let Aram carry the conversation on the drive to the cabin. The silence must have seemed too oppressive, prompting him to skip from one topic to another, as she tried to focus, to piece together the scattered events that have occurred in her absence.

It felt like another life.

They are not strangers, but it is she that is out of place. Difficult to visualize herself there amongst her colleagues, her friends. She watched the scenery speed past outside the window, a perfect description of her life.

A blur with no fixed edges. No boundary to keep herself together.

_Don’t hide in the dark._

Words that ran through her thoughts as her hand tightened on the armrest, forcing herself not to change her mind and tell Aram to turn around making her sound as unstable as she felt.

“I wasn’t sure if I should mention it….that is to say, if it is something you’d like. I can mail it perhaps or drive back out….”

Aram had lapsed into silence and Liz realized he was waiting for her response, regarding a topic she lost track of long ago.

“Aram, I’m sorry. My thoughts are a bit…what are you going to send me?”

“The information Mr. Reddington asked me to gather. Only when I contacted him, he said it was no longer needed, but if it is something you—”

“This is regarding that night,” she whispered, already knowing the answer.

“Yes, he—”

She turned back to the window and closed her eyes, trying to shut off the rush of memories. “I can’t talk about this now. I’ll let you know when….”

A squeeze of her arm and they had completed the journey in silence. She only vaguely remembers the quaint little town they passed through, fleeting images of the long drive and the sound of water as soon as she stepped from the car.

“There’s a creek just down that path,” Aram explained, as if reading her mind.

He kept up a steady flow of conversation as they entered the cabin where he walked her through each room, showed her the fully stocked kitchen and handed her a printout. With a smile she glanced through the pages containing everything from the wifi code to the number for the local grocery that would deliver. Some things never change.

“Aram, you’ve thought of everything. Thank you.”

He brushed off her gratitude and they made another tour. On and on until she realized that he was delaying his drive back to the city.

“I’m going to be fine,” she said, trying to sound reassuring. “How could anything go wrong with all the arrangements you’ve made?”

“If you need anything—”

“I’ll call.” There was some doubt in his expression which didn’t surprise her considering her track record. “I promise.”

It took a little time but she finally convinced him to start his drive back as the sun was setting. She stood there on the porch, watching his car disappear down the drive, leaving her alone with the fear that she had made a terrible mistake.

Worry that deepened as the darkness grew. The unfamiliarity of the sounds around her added to her agitation and one by one she found herself turning on every light in the place as she paced the cabin. She hadn’t noticed taking the phone from her pocket but suddenly the weight of it was there in her hand and she finally gave into the need to call.

“Lizzy?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” she said in a rush as soon as Raymond answered. “Why did I do this and now I don’t know, I really don’t and—”

“Lizzy, take a breath.”

She remembers his voice breaking through her tangled thoughts and how it seemed to anchor her to a stop. For the first time since arriving she had walked to a chair to sit, easing the pain in her body as her breathing evened out.

“Say the word and I’ll be on my way.”

Something she already knew. Something that she almost said  _yes_  to. Almost.

He waited a few seconds and when there was no reply, continued, “Are you alright?’

“Yes,” she answered after a a few moments, even though she had felt anything but okay.

“Now, Dembe tells me you will be calling Agnes every day or so.”

“Yes.”

“And I’m fairly certain Aram has taken care of all possible details of your accommodations.”

She smiled then as he went through the checklist as a way of comforting her, making her think of the multi-page print out containing every possible detail of the cabin including satellite images of the property and surrounding area.

“He has.”

“You’ll be glad to know, Aram called asking for Edward’s contact information so he could supply him the location of the nearest airport, flying times from Washington and New York and the weather forecast for the next ten days.”

“You’re joking?”

“Lizzy, I would never joke about a friend’s concern for you and your wellbeing,” he replied seriously.

No, he would never do that and for the first time she relaxed back into the chair. “What am I doing here?”

“Is that a rhetorical question or—”

“Not really.”

There was rustling on the other end and she imagined him sitting to get comfortable, since he must have been fairly certain at that point that he was not about to fly to whatever closest airport Aram had found for him.

‘I don’t have an answer for that, Lizzy, but I believe that is what you are searching for. An answer.”

“About that night?”

“No, the answer to that doesn’t lie in those woods or in the solitude you need.”

“I hate this. I hate being without Agnes and….”

_You._

It came so quickly, so easily, as if it was the most natural thing in the world and she only just stopped herself from saying it. She could not explain her hesitancy and the unfamiliar sensation that overcame her but perhaps it was simply the strangeness of her surroundings. The isolation that she sought but then felt pressing in from every direction.

“You’re not without her,” he continued when she remained quiet. “Dembe explained there is some type of video link on the phone that will allow you to see her and vice versa. I really have no idea how it works.”

‘I know you don’t but that’s okay.”

“Everything will be alright, Elizabeth.”

How desperately she needed to believe it and she closed her eyes to everything but the sound of his voice, not wanting to face the long night she somehow knew was ahead of her.

“Will you talk to me for awhile longer?”

“Shall I tell you about the nearest town?” he asked with unmistaken enthusiasm. “You probably drove through on your way. Quite a story. Founded by a gambler and scoundrel in eighteen something-or-other and—”

“Wait, did you look it up? I don’t remember that being in Aram’s notes.”

“Yes, well, I wanted to know what the landscape looks like when I imagine you there,” he answered quietly.

Something in the way he had said it, the honesty of wanting to picture her there and she felt it again. Some shift in the atmosphere and she knew with certainty she would not leave these woods unchanged. Whatever answers she sought were here and close. Almost within reach.

* * *

Grief is an ugly business as well she knows. It is what drove her here. The nightmares she cannot control. Her anger. The knife. As difficult as the days have been since her arrival, she must have somehow known the worst was coming. Perhaps it is simply that she could not suffer in silence any longer.

The tears return first. Tears that have not fallen, not once, since she woke in the hospital, but now that they are here won’t be stopped. She had told Raymond she needed to scream and she does so, for no other reason than to drown out the turmoil within her mind.

The days drift one into the other. Everything seems the opposite of what it was before. Her emotion once contained will not be so. She begins sleeping during the day, finding the nights too dark to close her eyes.

The lights continue to burn. Every single one. She cannot find it within her to switch them off and have the darkness come too near. She cannot seem to shake this cold fear that has settled within her.

Seven days of grief with no way to know where the end will be. Pain for her child, for the waste of it all and again she steers clear of where the thoughts will take her. Why her loss is not centered around the one that will never again enter that apartment. There is too much anger to go near it and she wonders if it is more for herself rather than him.

A week until Raymond's words return to her in full and the understanding that comes with them.

_Elizabeth, don’t just go off and hide in the dark. Look for some light._

And finally it is there. In the middle of the night, with the cabin lit up to ward off the dark. It is there when she remembers the tablet Raymond gave her that first day. All the time she has missed that was recorded for her, but what has been too painful to look at since those first days in the hospital.

She remembers the nighttime ritual of putting Agnes to bed and how her own image was there for her daughter to see and remember. The reason she was able to recognize her mother after so long. And the first video. How exhausted Raymond looked so soon after her injuries but he was there when Agnes was moved to the mansion and he wanted her to know she was safe.

Suddenly this is all that matters and, with shaking hands, she finds the tablet in her suitcase and opens it. She curls on her side in the bed that offers no rest and turns it on. There are countless images and videos to choose from, but after a minute or two she opens an album simply titled  _reading_  and goes to the first.

It is still early days when it was made. She can tell by the worry at the edges of his eyes, the fact he had not shaved and she knows instantly he stayed by her side all night and into the next day until Dembe would have insisted he return home. instead of resting, however, he is here with her child in the cozy chair he had placed in her nursery with a book he has selected.

_Agnes, your mother mentioned this story to me once and I found this book in your room. Now do you happen to recall if she had started reading this to you or where you left off?_

With a glance down he waits for an answer but Agnes only claps her hands, losing her balance and tilting to the right. With a chuckle he tilts her back and they settle back with the book before them.

_In that case we shall begin again. ‘The Wonderful Wizard of Oz’ by L. Frank Baum._

He must have made enough recordings by then as he seems perfectly at ease as Lizzy watches. There is only the smallest of glances toward the camera as he sheepishly takes a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket, mumbling something about his eyes being tired.

The emotion comes quickly. Not the suffocating grief she has experienced but something lighter that fills her, pushing everything else away except the two that mean the most.

_Agnes, there is an art to reading a book. A certain order to things if you will. First is the copyright date and here we have…_

He flips a page or two until he finds what he is looking for.

_1900\. Quite impressive when you think about it. Next is the dedication page. Very important, never skip the dedication._

A few more pages turn…

_‘This book is dedicated to my good friend and comrade. My wife.’_

He chuckles thoughtfully before turning another page.

_‘Comrade.’ Well, marriage can very much feel like two soldiers in battle together but that is a story for another day. Next is the Table of Contents. Now, this is a matter of personal preference since delving too far can sometimes spoil the surprise, therefore, I feel that two or three chapters usually suffice._

Agnes pushes forward to give the page a thump with her hand and Lizzy leans in completely enthralled with the scene.

_I’m glad you agree with me on that. Makes things so much easier. Alright we have The Cyclone. The Council With The Munchkins. How Dorothy Saved The Scarecrow. Yes, I’d say that is enough to get us started._

Lizzy finds herself smiling for the first time in days, since that first phone call when she arrived. He begins the great tale at last and with his running commentary on the proceedings, she thinks it must have taken quite some time to finish.

_‘When Dorothy stood in the doorway and looked around, she could see nothing but the great gray prairie on every side. Not a tree nor a house broke the broad sweep of flat country that reached to the edge of the sky in all directions.” Agnes take it from me, Kansas is flat. Very, very flat._

On it goes, one recording leading directly to another. And another after that. A constant in their routine as the days turned to weeks and she did not wake.

_‘It was a terrible thing to undergo, but during the year I stood there I had time to think that the greatest loss I had known was the loss of my heart.’_

Her breath stops and it is as quiet in the cabin as it was in the nursery with Agnes leaning sleepily back listening to the sound of his voice. Her daughter does not recognize the pause, cannot see the expression that passes over his face before he goes on, but Lizzy sees it before it disappears. Some understanding there and one that they both share.

Lizzy stays with them through the night as the edited video plays out, until the last line is read and she smiles, not for the first time, as he says the familiar words when Dorothy is home again. She has no memory of it, but she knows he made sure it was played for her time and again along with all the others.

Whatever answers she is searching for, at least there is this.

_Elizabeth, don’t just go off and hide in the dark. Look for some light._

She has found it if nothing else. They are the light that pulled her from the darkness. He never left her and somehow she feels certain she came back for him as well as her child.


End file.
